


Frangible

by CharlotteCordelier



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 01:41:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13447815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlotteCordelier/pseuds/CharlotteCordelier
Summary: "You're going to have to kill them."





	Frangible

**Author's Note:**

> Just a thing that I couldn't not finish.

“You’re going to have to kill them,” Felicity said. The words were garbled somewhat by her fat lip.

His face showed absolutely nothing, but she could feel the question.

“I talked. After the first hour.” The rope was gone, but she could still feel it. A maze of intricate knots that dug into her skin and flesh, distorting her body. She’d been forced to half-sit, unable to straighten her back, or to fold over to rest her head and neck. Too much movement in either direction resulted in strangulation.

He nodded.

She stood shakily, too afraid to do much else. There were noises, arrows and blows, but it all seemed to be happening somewhere else, behind a pane of glass maybe. Then he was beside her, another question radiating off him. 

“I can walk,” she said. “But it hurts.”

Then Oliver put his hands on her, very carefully, like someone who had been manhandled himself one too many times. She turned her face into his chest, away from the rest of them. She didn’t want anyone else’s eyes, anyone else’s hands. Somehow she must have made that clear, because the others were gone when they reached the foundry. They didn’t stay long, just long enough for him to change. He tried to help her change, too, but she just clutched at the lapels of her coat.

“Felicity,” he said. “There’s blood.”

“I can’t--here. Just give me a blanket or something.”

He gave her a blanket and got her home to the loft.

“Better here?” he asked, setting her down in the bathroom.

She nodded.

“Bath or shower?”

“Shower. I think. But I can’t…” Felicity took a shuddering breath. “Can you help me? They hurt my feet.”

He lifted her up so she was seated on the counter. Then, as if they were made of glass, he lifted her feet and inspected them.

“Bastanado.”

“They used a cane. I didn’t think--I didn’t know it could hurt so much.”

He slid the blanket off her shoulders and began to help her out of her clothes. When she was only in her grimy jeans, he turned the shower on. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the abrasions left by the rope around her neck. There would be more, everywhere it ground into her.

“Just for a moment,” he said.

He lifted her back up and set her on her feet. She gasped, fumbling at the button and zipper, letting him do the work from there. Then he only had to ease her underwear off and picked her back up and carried her into the big, walk in-shower. Again, like she was the most delicate porcelain, he knelt and set her gently down on the floor. Then, no more self-conscious than a boy, he stripped out of his own clothes.

“I can do this part,” she said, with an unsteady smile.

“I know. I--” His voice cracked and he stopped, trying to master himself. “Please let me help. Only if you want it. Please.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

Felicity was lax, almost doll-like as Oliver washed her hair, expertly applied conditioner, rinsed, and then washed the rest of her with that oil-to-cream stuff that smelled like honeysuckle. He gently rubbed her cleansing balm into the soft skin of her face, with the rough pads of his third and fourth fingers. Then finally he came to her feet.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“I swear,” she said, surprised to find herself crying. “I swear I didn’t say anything. But then they took my shoes off and I couldn’t move.”

“It’s my fault,” Oliver said. “It’s my fault--I should never have--I let them hurt you.”

“I did just what John told me, but then they took my shoes off.”

“It took me too long.” He sounded choked and she realized he was crying, too. “It took me too long.”

He washed her feet like they were the crown jewels. And then he sat next to her, so that their backs were both against the wall, and he put his arm around her. 

“Don’t go out at night,” she said, wiping her face. “Just for a little while. A couple days. Just stay with me for a little bit, at night.”

“Anything.” He leaned over and kissed her wet hair. “Anything.”

“It’s nobody’s fault,” Felicity said. “Except for the man who did it. And he’s dead?”

“He’s dead.”

“Okay.” Then she started crying again. “I know it’s dumb but now I feel bad because I told you to kill him.”

“Look at me.” Oliver’s voice was less than steady. “I was going to kill him anyway. And if I didn’t, John would have. And if John didn’t, Rene and Dinah would have done it.”

“But not Curtis?” she asked and felt an urge to smile.

“Curtis would have gotten around to it, eventually.”

“That’s sweet.” Felicity shivered.

“Time to get out?”

“Time to get out.”

He wrapped her in a heavenly bath sheet and set her back on the counter. He helped her brush her teeth and handed her the expensive moisturizer she used at night. He ran a comb through her damp hair. And then he carried her into their bed.

“You’re not getting in?”

“I can’t…” He raked a hand through his hair. “I took too long.”

“Come here. Come lay down with me. Lie down with me? Just come here.”

“There’s not a place on you I can touch without hurting you. I can’t.” He was getting that look he got right before he went out looking for trouble.

“Oliver. I am tired. I am cold. I have been...well, roughed up is I think the term. I am asking you to get into this bed. This is what I want from you.”

He climbed into the bed and she exhaled with relief.

“You’re shaking.”

“I told you. I’m cold.”

“How…? Where…”

“Let me be the big spoon.” She could keep the soles of her feet facing out that way. And neither of them would have to worry if he was holding her wrong. She would do the holding.

“The big spoon?”

“You heard me.”

Obliging, he rolled over so she had his back. She scooched into it and with her hands clasped in front of her, slowly leaned herself into the warmth of his back. It was solid, reassuring.

“Better,” she said.


End file.
